Seattle 94, or Another Exerpt from My Foray into Short Stories

Wantastiquet College boasted a student population of just under a thousand; there were about thirty Jews on campus, according to the yearly demographics survey. Rachel and the others who worked in the kitchen guessed there were probably fifteen to twenty others, who hadn’t checked off the box, or were too secular to consider the “religion” section. The kitchen had been founded some years earlier, as a compromise – the college wouldn’t pay for a campus rabbi, but they’d create a Jewish space on campus, and pay a few student workers to run it. For Rachel, Sasha and Avigail, this was heaven’s version of work-study.

“After all,” Avigail had explained in her light Israeli accent, “somebody offered to pay me what I’d do anyway, for my friends. How could I say no?”

Jenny and Rachel developed a rhythm as they worked. As soon as Rachel tipped a panful of cooked onions into the bathtub-sized chafing dish, Jenny was on hand and ready with a bowlful of raw ones to replace them. Rachel sang and talked to the onions as she stirred them, occasionally breaking into a familiar tune.

“Oh I wish I were an Oscar-Meyer weiner,” she sang, shaking a pan in each hand. Jenny cracked up.

“Treyf! Treyf! Oscar-Meyer has breached the perimeter and no heksher is safe!”

“Oh yeah? Guess your mom had better watch out, then!” Rachel crowed. Jenny groaned. “Your mom” jokes were staple kitchen banter, but Jenny didn’t see the appeal. Half the time, they didn’t even make sense. She picked up the empty soap bottle and squeezed it under her left eye. It worked; the single tear rolled away, and her eye stopped burning. She slid a pace to her right and turned on the battered and flour-dusted CD player to avoid further mom jokes. Avigail made crazy mixes on Thursday nights and left them for the Friday morning volunteers. Today’s first song was Prince: I wanna be your lover, quickly followed by an old-timey sounding group Jenny had never heard of. Rachel sang along.

“Now won’t you tell it to me
Tell it to me
Drink the corn liquor let the cocaine be
Cocaine’s gonna kill my honey dead”

“Isn’t it awesome?” Rachel yelled. Jenny laughed.

“Who are these guys?” she shouted back.

“They’re called Old Crow Medicine Show. I introduced them to Avigail sophomore year. She must’ve known I’d be here this morning to hear it.” Jenny raised her eyebrows and shook her head in the universal sign for okaaay…weirdo. Rachel caught her and laughed.
“When I was on onion duty, I had no idea why I stayed. Here I was, up to my elbows in snot and onion gas, with weird music and crazy chicks who seemed to speak more in in-jokes than in English. But I stayed – ”here, she threw her hands up, flinging a bit of onion from end of her spatula – “who knows why? But I’m glad I did.”